Powers That Be
by anakanka
Summary: The gang lands in a world which they suspect hides one of Sakura's feathers. In a world that is home to an ancient culture, Kurogane finds himself with no choice but to pose as the patron deity of a powerful city-state if he wants to see himself and the gang survive this ordeal. But cunning aristocrats, religious fanatics, and perhaps the God himself may undermine him. Kurogane/OC


**A/N- So in my head this takes place right after Jade Country and shortly before Oto/ Edonis. So far I'm not sure if I'll include the filler episodes-which if anyone's seen the anime- there's a huge load, so I'm not sure if this'll stay completely faithful to the manga, or if I'll throw the fillers in there. We'll see, I probably will considering how this is just another adaptation with an OC thrown into the mix.**

**Disclaimer- You know the drill, I don't own the entirety of Tsubasa Resevoir Chronicles; Just my OC, and the world that the story kicks off in, that's mine.**

**So… Let's begin, shall we?**

**Chapter 1 – "**_**The People of the Black Crescent"**_

He couldn't see, he couldn't feel, couldn't smell, he was completely stripped of his senses, which in itself had to be load of shit. All his life had been spent honing his skills, strengthening his senses and now here he was- a damn sitting duck. He could go on without sight, he knew sight alone couldn't be relied on in combat, sense of smell- he could live without that too, but not being able to _feel_ is what unnerved him right now. Sure, if he concentrated, he could feel himself moving about, the weight of the armor on his body, the sword at his hip; but he couldn't feel _around _him. He couldn't sense any auras, alive or otherwise around him. Whether in broad daylight or in the blackest of nights, that sense was a given. Now, stripped of his senses and virtually helpless, he was more than wary- he was ready to lash out at anything in the darkness.

He wasn't just on edge and frustrated, _oh no_, he was _pissed._ Pissed and edgy because for the first time in his existence he was practically vulnerable. _No, _he thought,_ I may be at a severe disadvantage here but I'm definitely not fucking vulnerable ._ He'd never forgive himself for sinking that low, his pride wouldn't at least. He took comfort in the fact that his godly strength would overcome almost anything that rushed at him from the darkness, but even that wouldn't last an eternity. Not in the void, this limbo he'd been shut away in like a common prisoner. He suppressed a flinch- already he could feel the darkness sapping his strength, a tiny nagging bite, like that of an insect.

He frowned, knowing that while the bite was menial now, the darkness was unrelenting, and eventually he'd be reduced to mere shade. Just a small prick here and there, before long he'd find himself covered in cuts- still nothing he couldn't handle- but eventually he'd find himself bleeding his own essence all over the damn place and in the end he'd be nothing more than a sad husk of his former self. He wasn't planning on staying that long, _no._ He didn't care what he had to do, he was busting the hell out of here and he'd reclaim what was his. He wasn't about to resign himself to the void, he wasn't going to just roll over and accept that fate. He had a home, a duty, a _life_ he had to get back to- and no fucking void was going to stay in his way. He pulled his blade from its scabbard and took a stance.

He inhaled sharply, his grip on the handle tightened, he could feel the immense power coursing through his veins, and finally he could see. It was only be for a brief moment, but the tendrils and bolts of his energy illuminated himself and the space around him, casting a bright blue glow. Beyond the light of his power he could see nothing but darkness-_ Figures,_ he thought-, and he caught sight of himself in the reflection of his sword. A powerful looking man with tan skin, burning red eyes, and sharp features. He gave a toothy grin, reveling in his power; he wasn't going to give this blow his all, not like some foolish rookie, but he would test the void's resilience. Even though it wasn't his strongest, the power in this attack would still be enough to bust through, he believed. He leaped, swinging his blade high above his head before bringing it crashing down before him.

"_Hama Ryuu Ou-Jin!"_

The sword shot forth a wave of immense power, the light seemingly cutting through the darknessand as soon as he came upon what seemed like the ground, he swung his head up in search of – well, anything.

Nothing.

His eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped- a bit- before he composed himself. His power alone should've been enough to burst through the void, and yet here he was- finding no sign at all that he even attacked in the first place. '_Fuck,'_ he silently cursed. What unnerved him was the fact that while he attacked, he felt an immense resistance against him; when he swung up, it pressed down, when he swung down, it tried to force him upwards. He was expecting it, but he had underestimated it's strength. '_Well it was just a practice swing anyways, nothing to be proud of. Alright, no more kiddie crap.'_

He raised his sword once more, ready to strike again- this time with more ferocity, more power. He noted the resistance against his sword, but he didn't care, not when he was channeling his full strength, enough to end hundreds of lives and wipe out a city. He was getting out of here, going home, putting this whole mess behind him and grow-_numb?!_

He could barely find the feelings in his hands, it was as though they were turning to ice… And then he figured it out. The void was feeding off of his energy. He relented, and slowly some feeling returned to his hands. '_ So that's how it's going to be, huh? The more I fight, the more stolen from me? Well, isn't that just dandy.'_

He snarled like an angry beast and let loose a volley of curses at the heavens, at his people, all but himself. It was the Goddess, it was her damn fault he was sealed away seething, his fists clenched, nails ready to break through the skin. ' _Fuck her, fuck her and everyone of those bastards who let this happen.' _ He'd break out of limbo, and when he did, every one of the pantheon would know his wrath. He'd show them just how powerful the God of war, the hunt, the _harvest_, could be. They didn't call him the Culler of Man for nothing, after all.

If she wanted him imprisoned just because he was doing his duty as a God then so be it, but she'd suffer his vengeance when he broke free. He remembered his last words to his people before he'd been sealed away.

" _I'll be back and don't you forget it!". _A promise, one he intended to keep. He strained his senses once more, hoping to find- to feel, anything beyond himself and his anger. Then somewhere out there he found it. Well, he could at least _hear _something, even if it was faint. He could only hear a small hushed sound at first, as though he were going deaf; but when he strained his hearing, he could make out their voices. A mass of voices lost in the sea of darkness, calling his name, crying out hymns of reverence.

" _Sargane! Sargane!"_

'_Well, I'm not going to rot here anytime soon.'_ He thought with a smirk. '_Thank… _me,_ for idiot zealots.' _The Harvest was nearly upon them, only a few weeks away. He knew what they were gathered for, and he knew that so long as he was their patron God, they'd never let him fade away. They were desperate fools, weaklings who depended on the strength of their God just so that their city would stand for another year. He knew they were nothing without him, the fools always sacked and raided other cities on superfluous conquests, seizing riches and women, angering their men, and hid behind him when the debt came to be paid. Chances were, they never once thought of what would happen to their precious city if he disappeared.

Then again he never entertained the idea, either. If they died, well, then they died, he had no qualms with that. Hell, if they died, their essence would become nothing but energy for him to feed on and he'd only grow stronger. Which was why he was shocked when the Goddess rose up to face him and actually managed to seal him away. He never thought anyone in the pantheon could face him and defeat him, he who lived for strength and battle all his existence. He wouldn't stay defeated for long though; true, the darkness ate away at him every other minute, but if he knew his people – _which after 2000 years he did_- and how they were incredibly fanatical about the impending Harvest, then for every loss in strength he'd take here, it'd be restored three times over by their worship.

" _Blessed is the Lord of the Harvest, he who shall smite the weak! Our Lord who bears the skies on his shoulders, and the moon on his brow! The Culler of Man, who shall devour the wicked and bless our fields! My brothers, my sisters under the Black Crescent, our Lord was stolen from us!" The high priest shouted from atop the temple stairs. Below him were the masses, hundreds of people gathered into the massive city square, all shouting their disapproval of what had befallen their revered patron. _

_Overhead, the crimson sun shone at its zenith, casting a red hue to the arid land, the mud-brick buildings of various sizes, and the people themselves, who were dressed in simple garments made of crude cloth. They shouted at the top of their lungs in praise of their lost God, the cacophony of voices was deafening. The high priest, who was dressed gaudily compared to them raised his gold-adorned arms up and brought them down in a gesture of silence. His eyes were proud, full of defiance and arrogance. The same pride and arrogance which filled the eyes of his people .One by one the voices died away and all that remained was silence._

" _The other cities believe that in the absence of our Lord, we will grow weak!"_

_The crowd roared in rage._

" _They say that our Lord has abandoned us, that our fields will spoil, our brothers will die, our daughters ruined, and that eventually we will fall! They say that without the Great Hunter, we are nothing! Is that so? IS THAT SO?!" He proudly thrust his fist in the air, and the people shouted back " NO!"_

_Before the high priest's altar lay a wide circular pit, deep and full of blazing fire. The plumes of smoke were winding upwards, to the sky. From the shadows within the temple, came two strongly built and richly adorned men, who came with a struggling captive. The man's hands were bound behind his back with leather chords, and he tossed himself to-and-fro, desperately trying to break free of his captors. His eyes widened upon seeing the masses far below the temple steps, they then darted from the proud high priest, to the roaring fire, and his blood ran cold. He knew what was coming._

_He started thrashing about like a rabid beast, throwing himself, kicking, squirming, anything to get out of there. The crowd cheered upon seeing new blood. Blood for the God, for Sargane. The high priest silenced them, before turning his head towards the prisoner. He motioned for the two men to bring the victim over, and they obeyed. The captive tried all that he could in his last chance at life, but when he came face to face with the priest, he froze. The priest gave a smug grin. " See how we stand, even in the absence of our Lord. You thought we'd fall to pieces, that we'd cower behind the skirts of our mothers. No; we are strong, unyielding, and unafraid. Are you?" he growled._

_The captive could do nothing but stare wide eyed at the priest, and gulped. His eyes constantly darted between the priest before him and the fire. The priest curled his lip, as though he were eyeing a disgusting rat before eyeing his two men and nodding towards the fire. Without a moment to spare, the men began dragging the thrashing man towards the fire. "NO, NO, NO!" the man cried, desperate to get away. " NO, please, I don't want to die!". But his voice went unheard amongst the roar of the masses, laced with fanaticism._

" _Brothers, sisters! Though our God is lost, we shall not relent! On this day we offer blood to the Great Hunter, just as our fathers had done before us. Lord Sargane!" He cried, turning his face heavenwards, " we offer you this gift, we offer you blood! Blood for our fields, our victories, for you! So that you may have the strength to bear the skies, the moon, and return to us!"_

_The two men then flung the sacrificial victim into the pit of fire crudely, like he was some irrelevant ragdoll. The victims screams couldn't be heard over the crowd's cheering. So long as they knew they had given back to their God, that their fields would be fertile, their conquests successful, that man's life was nothing to them. The priest stood before the fire proudly, ignoring the poor man's screams, taking in the ovation. _

_Through the dense smoke, one could see a mural, painted in rich colors. The mural depicted a strongly built tan skinned man, with jet black hair, and piercing red eyes. He was lavishly adorned and dressed in armor. Above him an intricately designed, black crescent was depicted, and within the moon was painted a single, white feather._

" _Long live, Lord Sargane!"_

**A/N: WHOO, so here we end the prologue. I really hope you guys enjoy this story thus far, and don't worry the gang comes in next chapter! I just wanted you guys to get the gist of the world first and introduce this **_**Sargane**_**. If things still seem kinda fuzzy to you, I promise, everything will tie up together nice and neat. I'm sorry if my writing seems kind of crappy, I haven't done this in a while! I'm still trying to get back into the rhythm of writing. So if you have something to say, feedback/constructive criticism, then slam down on the review button right there. I'd like to know that there's people who want to read this. Seriously, REVIEW. (A+ ARGUMENT, **_**AMIRITE?)**__**Until next time~**_


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